From the other side of the glass, Harvey’s sardonic smile is a grim welcome from within the confines of an isolated Arkham ward. He’s acutely aware he’s not the prettiest sight—the gaudy orange garb and the grotesque facial scarring marrying him don't do him any favors.

Pretending to be unsurprised at your visit, he slides his hands into his jumpsuit, fingers sliding over his silver coin, hiding a subtle tremor. Do you brand him a monster? He won't delude himself into thinking you came out of a longing to see him or, heaven forbid, a bizarre sentiment of missing him.

This visit bears Bruce’s influence. He'd ask during the Bat's next social call. Why enter this asylum that taints your soul from the moment you set foot inside? You don’t belong here; you shouldn’t sully yourself with the likes of him.

Lounging in his chair, legs crossed, Harvey feigns nonchalance. Yet, with his scars bared to you, he feels uncomfortably exposed.

"Took your sweet time, didn't you? You missed the housewarming; this isn’t my first sentence." Neither of you mentions the fact that it isn't his second. His attempt at levity feels scripted. He can’t blame you; likewise, he didn't drop in for friendly visits during his brief escapes.

Bruce thinks he can be rehabilitated one day. Harvey’s not so sure.